When All Hell Breaks Loose - A Creepypasta Fanfiction
by The Hat Madder
Summary: The government hires a squadron of crazies from the local asylum to solve perhaps the biggest conspiracy the state has encountered.
_People were never his thing, anyway._ _Of course, he'd watch and observe, but interaction had always been beyond him._

Even so, like any other person, he resisted being sectioned. At least he could reassure himself that he belonged somewhere, even if it was in the clique labelled 'global crazies'. At least he shared something in common with someone.

He just felt like nothing had been going anywhere, at one sudden point in his life. Everything had become grey and dull, and he'd begun dreaming in black and white. Colour had escaped him, and it showed in his skin, too. He was gaunt and pale, tall and skeletal, and his deep brown (almost black) hair stood out starkly against the rest of him, slicked down to his head because it was pretty much the only thing that could make it look vaguely neat anymore. If he tried to do anything else with it, it would go all haywire. Then he'd really look like a madman. Not particularly what he had aimed for.

Regarding why he had been sectioned... He had certain beliefs. First of all, he quite blatantly had a God-complex, because to Jack, he could do what he wanted. He was the superior in all situations, and nobody could tell him otherwise because he was - well, God, and nobody had the authority to tell him what to do. Secondly, there had been his fascination with clowns and the circus, and not just an interest; Jack had been obsessed. When he wasn't working in the office, he was painted up in his house, all in black and white with the belief that one day, the circus would come for him, and he would be world-famous. He lived within his own head, unable to get out and high on substances. His narcolepsy didn't really help, either. If he sat still for too long without movement, he'd fall asleep, and the same would happen if he was put under stress, too. Thus, when they came for him, despite fighting back, he'd been stressed out and had fallen asleep. If he hadn't been narcoleptic, he'd probably have killed one of them.

Jack - having been painted up at the time - had fallen asleep with his contact lenses in. Idiot move. When he arrived at the institution, he'd woken up with extremely irritated eyes. They had taken his lenses out, of course, but only when they realised that he was wearing them (which was probably an hour or two after bringing him in). In the 72 hour holding cell - he knew, he'd been in one before - there were no mirrors, so he couldn't even look at himself and inspect his eyes for possible rip-roaring conjunctivitis. He was sure, however, that all of his capillaries were ready to burst with the way his eyes were all dry and burning. They watered and poured down his face. He wiped his cheek with the back of his hand, noticing when he drew it away that the white-coats had wiped off all of his juggalo-esque grease-paint. He frowned.

 _Happy Jack wasn't happy anymore._

He thought about himself, and what he could possibly say to the techs. He refused to admit that perhaps his use of substances had brought on paranoid schizophrenia, despite fitting the criteria. Then he remembered - _He didn't have to say anything to them._ He didn't have to descend to a human level to converse with them. He was so much more than simply _human._ He was Jack, and Jack was better than them.

 _Demand out._

He didn't like the sudden smell of the room. Everything smelled like smoke and burning, and it made his heart rate increase. Was there a fire somewhere?

 _Perhaps it's a sign. They know about you._

"Who?"

 _The circus. They know you're here, Jack. Open the door._

"The circus..." He laughed lowly and strolled towards the door. This was easy as pie. His pale hand touched the handle, and he began trying to yank the door open. Of course, it was locked. He rattled the door handle.

 _Look what he's doing._

 _Not like that, use the window. Show them how acrobatic you are, they'll be dazzled._

 _There he goes - a one and a two! He's opening the window._

Jack pushed the window open, cold air rushing against his face. The window jammed, and Jack crinkled his brow in annoyance. He couldn't get through that. He heaved a sigh and walked to the other end of the room again, throwing his body at the door in an attempt to break it down. He checked his pockets, his hands beginning to sweat when he noticed something else - they'd taken his 'sharps'. Huffing, close to a tantrum, he tried something else.

"Excuse me!" He called, lowering himself until the keyhole of the door was level with one of his sterling-silver eyes, "I'd like to come out of here - I have somebody to see me! It's important!" He bashed the door with his fists.

 _He's calling out to them._

 _You're so intelligent, Jack. If you can get them on your side, they'll let you see the circus._

 _Oh - he's getting angry._

"I demand that you let me out immediately! Do you know who I am?"

 _His heart rate is going up, he's stressing out-_

Jack smashed his hands against the door furiously, gritting his teeth. His head began to go all fuzzy, and soon, the room began to turn on its side.

 _No, don't fall asleep!_

The ground flew up to meet his face. He collapsed, his eyes closed, his hair - thick with gel - crunching against the floor. His breathing evened out, and his body went lax.

If he could have just held on for a little bit longer...

* * *

When Jack awoke again, he was in a different room. _Oh. Seems like the techs decided to admit him straight away. That's disappointing._

Jack was cold again, his hands like blocks of ice. This cell was different, as in it had a reinforced glass wall. He could see straight out into the corridor, and the people in the corridor could equally look straight in at him. It was like being an animal at the zoo, and he didn't like it one bit.

Night had begun to fall, and he sat near the glass, still waiting for his circus.

 _Poor, Weeping Jack._


End file.
